After fourteen says of smooth sobriety sailing, I fell overboard into a sea of liquid enthusiasm. To be fair, I half-expected this to happen this weekend. I figured I’d cave the moment I stepped inside a liquor-serving establishment. Friday night was a minor offense—half a beer with dinner, followed by a Cream Soda at the house party and a Shirley Temple at the bar. I shrugged and figured I’d shave off a day or two from my tally. But yesterday? Yesterday I drank. I drank with purpose. Just after 11 AM, I opened a bottle of low-brow wine, poured it into a water bottle, and walked alongside my boyfriend for the two miles from my apartment to the CenturyLink stadium, stopping every third or fourth block to take a generous, gagging-gulp. It was like the beginning scene to a horror film—innocent enough, but inevitably setting the stage for disaster. Scene two: at the bar, I tipsily dismissed the $3 surcharge and removed two $20s from my ATM to buy shitty beer. Not beer to be enjoyed—beer to be downed quickly. Two canned ales and one plate of fried pickles later, we arrived at the Seahawks game, where I decided to shell out $15 on blue and green socks outside the stadium because “OMG, look! These will go perfectly with my boots and dress!” Cue: another beer inside, followed by taco truck food drenched in sour cream. I arrived home exhausted, tipsy, and guilty as heck. And wondering how I could soberly justify a $15 purchase of one pair of socks. (Answer: I can’t.)
So now I’m back here, staring at that big, bold ONE in the face, trying not to fixate on the fact that I screwed up big time. UGH.
But you guys? There was honestly NO WAY ON EARTH I could’ve mustered the energy to be around 60,000 screaming, intoxicated people. Truly. I would’ve been the worst: mopey, judgmental, resentful of all the normals able to casually drink. I could sense those feelings coming on as early as 9:00 AM in the grocery store when I made a quick trip for eggs and found dozens of folks stocking up for their tailgates. “WHY DO THEY GET TO HAVE MIMOSAS, BUT I CAN’T?” I thought. I was stompy, sad, and cynical when I returned home to make crepes. Knowing I’d be equally as bitter and eye-rolly within seconds of leaving for the game—risking souring the time for my beloved boyfriend—I decided to flick Jimminy Cricket off my shoulder and loosen up the only way I knew how—to be “happy and fun!” Bring on the beer! Pass on the vino!
And you know what? It worked.
I felt happy and high and giddy and carefree and had an amazing time. I didn’t shed a tear. I didn’t smack-talk or gossip. I stayed coherent and didn’t fall face-first down the bleachers. Overall, I wasn’t the shitty, intolerable drunk I’ve been so accustomed to being. I had some drinks, I had some laughs, and I came home in one piece and lived to tell the story. No harm, no foul, right?
…Wrong. I know it’s wrong. Today, I’m experiencing those all-too-familiar thoughts of dread and anxiety, albeit sans the self-loathing that usually accompanies a boozy night (or day) on the town. I can’t stop thinking that had I not gone to the game, I would’ve been enjoying a record SIXTEEN days today. Instead all I’m enjoying is a hangover and a less-plump pocketbook. (Those socks!)
Now, I can’t point fingers at anyone but myself, but I should mention that my boyfriend, while supportive, has taken the “do what’s best for you, but moderation is the key to life” approach to my declaration to kick my habit. That is to say that while he isn’t the one telling me to drink the wine, he’s certainly not telling me not to. I don’t know. Our relationship was birthed three years ago by way of multiple martinis, so my abstaining from Absolut is an adjustment for both of us. How do you live soberly with a significant other who enjoys letting loose with a few brews? Are things ever the same after one of you decides to quit? Or is it just plum impossible to take a solo journey to sobriety when your sig-oth is still sippin’ duds?
At any rate, those are my Monday, one-day musings. Once five o’clock rolls around, I have big plans to binge-eat a dozen cookies and bury myself beneath bubbles in a bath.
Hope everyone else is holding it together! ❤